


The Hobbit of Lórien

by Algrenion



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Fallohide - Freeform, Gen, Hobbit, Hobbits, Lothlórien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Algrenion/pseuds/Algrenion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I did this tiny drabble ages ago. Some anons were very curious about my Hobbit OC and wanted to know more about him, and asked me to write a few little stories for him.</p><p>Before there were Hobbits, there were the Stoors, the Harfoots and the Fallohides. All those races eventually mixed in the Shire, but my OC, Bellbury, is one of the few pureblood Fallohides left, whose family decided to go East instead of West and resorted to incest to keep their line alive. He lives in the woods of Lórien, entirely lonely, with only the occasional company of the Elves. Bellbury wants nothing more than to explore lands beyond the woods and see if there are any others like him. He isn't even aware that the Shire exists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hobbit of Lórien

There was a soft and celestial blue to the forests of Lórien at night — a cold glow that warmed the heart, and made one feel at peace. Bellbury rest in the trees, nigh horizontal in the high branches. Watching as the comforting blue seemed to melt away into the twilight, soon to be replaced by the orange of dawn, which would fade into the golden hues of midday. There he would have sat forever if he could, were it not for his restlessness and curiosity to see the lands below and beyond.

With a twist of his slight little form, he slid from the branch he’d been resting on and scaled the others, neat and careful footing ensuring a safe return to the ground. In the previous evening, as a friend to the Elves, he’d stopped by Caras Galadhon and played flute for the children there. This was a rare treat to him, as it was only so often that his voice fell upon ears that were not his own (not to mention one would have to be quite the individual, to lay eyes on an young elf even once). These children stood taller than he. They called him a Hobbit, though he did not know what that was. It was a pleasant, but deeply saddening feeling to know that while these people offered him comfort and company and acceptance, they were not  _his_  people.

Bellbury’s parents were long since dead. His brothers and sisters were elsewhere, and likely in coitus (an act of keeping their line alive, which Bellbury simply couldn’t bring himself to commit). Reminded of his solitude, some loneliness had washed over him by the time he reached his camp. By a small, still pool of water in the forest that mirrored the light of the coming day, he seated himself and tipped his head, watching his reflection beneath the sun. He wondered if there were any others like him and his own in the world. Little folk with furry feet, with pointed ears and curls in their hair. Surely, _surely_ there were others like him.

To the west, unknown to him, the sun was touching the Shire…


End file.
